


Will We Burn In Moose Jaw?

by Shrift (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Shrift
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Shrift.





	Will We Burn In Moose Jaw?

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the high angst content of WILL WE BURN? I was asked to "make it better" on the storyboards...this is the wacky, romantic result! Yes, I’m spoofing my own “end of Section One” story...

“DUCK!” 

Michael and Nikita rolled to the wood floor as two bullets zinged over their heads and blew two holes in the picture of the sunrise. Nikita landed on top of Michael, sprawled between his legs. They looked around for the mysterious source of the warning, but saw no one. 

“Screw this, Michael. We’re running,” she grunted, poking her index finger at his nose. He nodded. Satisfied, Nikita rolled off his warm body and began crawling across the floor towards her gun. He followed her, pulling his coat from the couch as more bullets flew overhead. 

The door of Nikita’s stood open as the two Section One operatives stole out of the apartment building, escaping into the night. 

************ 

_Months later..._

Nikita took another swipe at the gleaming counter and smacked her gum. She could hear the sounds of frying coming from the kitchen, mixing with the rock music pouring out of the radio. 

_We are the Sultans of Swing..._

“Can I get another coffee, Sugar?” 

“Sure thing, Walter,” Nikita called, turning to fill a cup with the aromatic liquid. She slowly crossed the floor behind the counter and set the coffee down. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks, sweetness. How’s the bun in the oven?” 

Nikita’s eyes sparkled. “Michael? His buns are nice and firm, like usual. And his donuts are even better.” 

Walter nearly spit out his mouthful of steaming coffee, jerking back with a grimace. “Too much information, Sugar. You know what I mean.” 

Nikita patted her swelling tummy, smoothing its roundness over her apron. “We’re just fine, Walter.” Nikita’s eyes blurred as she took in her surroundings, the clean, open space of their little shop. Birkoff huddled in the corner with his computers, running the Internet cafe portion of their business, _The Covert Donut_. Somehow, Walter and Birkoff had managed to evade the killing field of Section One. The first place they had checked was Nikita’s apartment. Finding no bodies or blood, Birkoff had set out to find them; Walter and Birkoff had walked into their shop in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan three weeks ago. 

Nikita smiled warmly at Walter and walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Michael stood there in a white T-shirt and a snug pair of frayed jeans, an apron conforming to his lean lines. His curly hair was pulled back in a top knot for cooking. She walked up and hugged him from behind, drinking in his scent of musky male and flour. Michael turned away from the stove and wrapped his strong arms around her expanded waist. 

“How are you?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose. 

“Hungry,” Nikita replied, leaning forward to lick the beaded sweat from his upper lip. 

Michael gifted her with a brilliant smile. “Nothing for you, ‘Kita.” 

Nikita sighed, contenting herself with nuzzling his flour-dusted neck. “I know...Doctor’s orders.” She returned Michael’s smile and turned her face up for a kiss. He obliged, capturing her lips in a lush, open-mouthed kiss. Her fingers wrapped around his cinnamon curls as his tongue stroked the silken walls of her mouth, sending a heady tingling sensation clear to her swollen toes. She heaved a satisfied sigh as he pulled away. 

“‘Kita, the donuts are burning,” he chuckled against her full lips. 

Nikita growled and pulled his head down again. “Let ‘em burn.”


End file.
